Kiss Away My Sins
by Warriorcat890
Summary: Carol always thought she was worthless; Ed's miserable, useless wife. Then, during the apocalypse she meets a taciturn hunter that might just be her knight in shining armor. Daryl Dixon watches her every day. He notices the bruises that everyone else overlooks. Knowing what it's like to get beat, he vows to protect her by whatever means necessary. Caryl. Season 1. More info inside.
1. Chapter 1

_Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 1_

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**Hey guys!**

**Welcome to my new Caryl fanfic, Kiss Away My Sins! This is the second Caryl fic I've written on the site, and I really hope that you enjoy it!**

**This one is more of a "What If?" story dealing with Carol and Daryl's relationship way back in Season 1. What if Daryl knew Carol was getting beaten? What if he tried to stop it? What if they formed a bond? What if they got together?**

**All that fun stuff.**

**I really hope you enjoy, and I hope that you keep reading.**

**If you wanna check out my other Caryl fic, you can go to my profile page and give it a read. It's called "Amaranthine".**

**Oh, and before we begin:**

**THIS STORY CONTAINS A LOT, AND I DO MEAN A LOT OF ED BASHING. THIS ALSO CONTAINS MINOR SHANE BASHING, AND SOME LORI BASHING. IT IS RATED M FOR SEXUAL ABUSE, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, AND DIXON MOUTH. IT ALSO CONTAINS A SOMEWHAT FEISTY CAROL AND A OVERPROTECTIVE AND OCCASIONALLY SENSITIVE DARYL.**

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**Chapter One**

"What the fuck did I just tell you, bitch?" Ed snarled, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

Carol fumbled with the buttons on her shirt, trying to distract herself from the yelling. She didn't respond to him, but just stared down at the dry earth beneath her feet.

She heard him approach, but remained motionless, her heart pounding. The last thing she wanted was another beating, but, of course, Ed never cared about what she wanted. "I said to get the fuck over here! I've been lookin' for ya for how long now?" he growled. Carol flinched as he spat on her shoe. "You're a useless, whore, you know that? You can't even listen to yer husband when he's talkin' to ya!"

"I am listening…" she mumbled, still not raising her eyes to his.

"The hell ya are!" he snorted. Without warning, she felt his hand seize her chin. He yanked her head up so she had no choice but to look at his ugly face. Once upon a time, that face had awakened joy within her; she had looked at it with love and affection. Now, it only brought her a mixture of fear and disgust. She bit back the urge to wrinkle her nose as she caught a whiff of his revolting, stale breath.

_God, what had I been smoking when I married this asshole?_

"Where's my goddamn shirt? I told ya I wanted it clean tonight," Ed told her, spitting a glob of God-knows-what on her shoe.

Carol had a smart remark planned out in her head, but restrained herself from voicing it. She didn't feel like getting hit today. Plus, she knew better than to ask why it was so important. She just looked down submissively, fighting to control the inner feminist that was just dying to kick his fat, ugly ass. "I'm sorry. I'll go get it ready right now."

"Good," he grunted. His anger seemed to be dying down now, much to her relief. She tried to act tough and defiant—she tried to make it seem like he didn't have too great of an effect on her—but it was a mask. In all honesty, Ed Peletier terrified her. Carol liked to think that one day, she'd throw down her damn laundry basket and tell the fucker to do it himself. She liked to think about walking out on him and taking her sweet Sophia with her. But they were fantasies; dreams that would never become a reality. The Carol that she wanted to be and the Carol that she was were two entirely different things; she wanted to be brave, intelligent, sarcastic, and independent, but, in reality, she was anything but that. She was a bag of used goods; a housewife that got beaten at almost every turn.

And, only to add salt to the wound, Carol had brought this upon herself. From the beginning of their relationship, she'd seen the signs, and she chose to ignore them. She knew he had a temper and that he could be a bit of an asshole. Yet, she stupidly agreed to marry him. She walked down the aisle wearing white and let him put his ring around her finger. She let him take her back to their hotel room, and she allowed him to steal her innocence from her. They went through a semi-decent newlywed stage before everything fell apart. Ed adopted the habit of drinking, and came home with a fury that Carol had never encountered before. He'd come home, demanding sex and getting it by whatever means necessary. That was how Sophia was born. In one of his drunken stupors, Ed had seemed to forget about the concept of condoms and wasn't lucid enough to think of the consequences.

When Carol discovered she was pregnant, she cried for days. It was bad enough that she had to suffer through this sorry excuse for a life, but now a child would have to experience it as well. That child would have to grow up watching its mother get mercilessly beaten, and possibly raped. No one deserved that. For a while, Carol contemplated abortion. She hated the thought of killing the baby inside her, but didn't want to condemn it to a life of pain and suffering. After much reflection on the matter, Carol determined that she loved her child more than anything in the whole world, and knew that she had to give it a chance.

Things didn't turn out as badly as Carol had predicted; to her relief, Ed had mellowed down a great deal after Sophia's birth. He wasn't really _gentler_, but he hit her less often. The best part for Carol was that her husband's sex drive had also decreased. Ed told her that after the pregnancy, her body wasn't the same anymore, and that sometimes, it disgusted him. Any other woman who heard their husband say that would break down in tears, but Carol was practically doing backflips of joy.

However, not everything was wonderful. Ed still beat her—he seemed to do so more after the beginning of the apocalypse, as if it were somehow her fault—and would occasionally break a rib or two. But, by far, the worst thing was that with each passing day, as Sophia grew into a young woman, Ed's eyes began to rest on her for long periods. Every now and then, Carol would catch him giving Sophia—his own daughter—a hungry, lustful look.

She hated him.

She hated him with every fiber of her being.

He could beat and rape her anytime he wanted, but when he went after her little girl, he was asking for a war. Carol would die before she let anything happen to her Sophia, and, with Ed being the way he was, dying might be exactly what it took.

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Carol knelt by the pond with the other women, wringing out one of Sophia's shirts. For the most part, they were all silent, Andrea and Jacqui occasionally breaking the silence with an amusing comment, or just some statement that all the women agreed and identified with. Lori was to her right and Miranda to her left. Carol unraveled the wet glob that was her daughter's favorite t-shirt and laid it down on the rocks beside her.

"So," Andrea said, breaking the silence. Whenever Andrea spoke, it was almost as if the women's incentive to work disappeared. Carol sometimes smiled at the thought. "There are _a lot_ of guys up in the quarry."

Jacqui giggled. "What are you goin' on about, now, Andrea? Your latest romantic endeavor? For the love of God, please spare us."

A few of the other women chuckled. Carol just smiled furtively before dipping one of Ed's shirt into the water.

"No, I was gonna ask if any of you guys have your eyes on one a' them. That way, I'll stay away and let you try your luck," Andrea replied with a small smile.

"They ain't gonna all flock to you, Andrea," Miranda replied deviously. "You ain't the only good-looking female in this group."

Carol let out a small laugh at her friend's boldness. "Miranda's right. You might have competition this time."

Andrea snorted and rolled her eyes. "Please… But anyway, who are you guys lookin' at? I know Lori's had her eyes on Shane for… oh… how long now?"

Lori's face flushed. "It's… it's nothing. I mean… He saved my son and I back in Atlanta after Rick…" she trailed off, her face becoming forlorn.

Carol watched her solicitously for a moment before giving her arm a friendly, reassuring pat. Whether Andrea actually noticed Lori's change in demeanor or chose to ignore it was unknown. "Alright, so I guess that Shane is crossed of the list. How about Jim?"

Jacqui only wolf-whistled in response.

Andrea laughed. "Alright, Jim belongs to Jacqui now… What about… How 'bout those two brothers? The ones that live in the woods? They're a little… separated from the others, but they're still a part of the group."

"The ones with the motorcycle?" one of the others asked.

"Yeah! Those ones… What are their names?"

"I know one of them's Merle," Miranda said casually.

Carol became disinterested at the mention of Merle's name. From what she'd seen of him, he was just a racist, sexist, womanizing, motorcycle-riding, drug-taking redneck. Carol knew there was another with him—a little brother she heard someone say—but Carol had never met him.

"What's the other's name?" Andrea demanded, sounding irritated that she couldn't remember it.

"I think it started with a D," Lori offered. Carol shot a glance over at the skinny woman beside her. Lori's face was still solemn, and her voice was oddly hoarse.

"Daryl!" Andrea cried with triumph. "That's it! Daryl Dixon!"

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A/N: Do you like it so far? Leave a review and let me know! If you've liked what you've seen so far, remember to follow and favorite! I really appreciate it! :D


	2. Chapter 2

_Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 2_

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**Hey guys! Chapter 2! :D**

**I don't own The Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Two**

"Why don't you do us all a favor and shut yer damn mouth, Dixon?!" Shane shouted, throwing his hands up in the air.

Daryl shifted his weight nervously, shooting cautious glances at his brother. He knew that Merle was fuming—no one ever talked to either of the Dixon brothers like that unless they had a death wish. "If I were you, I'd watch yer ass, pretty boy," Merle growled. His voice wasn't loud or grating like Shane's, but even and frighteningly dark.

No one fucked with Merle Dixon.

Ever.

"I don't need ta watch nothin', ya fuckin' redneck!" Shane squawked in response. He took a bold step toward the brothers, his hands clenched into fists.

Daryl instinctively raised his crossbow and aimed it at the cop's head. "Ya take one more step and ya get an arrow between the eyes," he warned.

The police officer faltered for a second, doubt flashing in his onyx eyes. Moments later, it was replaced by rage. Daryl held his ground, knowing his aim was accurate; if Shane took one more step toward Merle, it'd be the last thing he ever did.

When Shane made no move, Daryl jerked his crossbow toward him, indicating for him to move back. "Now, back the fuck off."

Shane let out a guttural growl before whipping around. He stalked off toward the RV, his body rigid as he struggled to control his anger. Daryl watched as he barged into the camper, slamming the door behind him.

With a sigh, the hunter lowered his crossbow and looked at his brother. Merle was smirking, his arms folded casually across his chest. After a few seconds, he looked at Daryl, a stupid grin breaking out on his face. "I didn't mean to put his panties in a bunch."

"Fuckin' hell, Merle!" Daryl hissed, slinging his bow over his shoulder. Without another word, he began to stalk back to their secluded camp, his own anger now boiling just beneath his skin. It was bad enough that Merle was an ass to everyone they came across, but did really have to ruin all their chances of being around people?

He knew his brother was following, probably just waiting to snicker at Daryl's annoyance. He didn't care—not anymore. There was a time when Merle's words sliced through him like a knife, but know, they slid off smoothly like water off a duck's back. He wasn't a little kid anymore that looked to his big brother for everything; he was his own man now, and he had a thing or two to say to Merle.

They reached their camp relatively quickly, faster than usual since Daryl was practically jogging through the woods. He leaned his crossbow up against one of the logs they'd set up around their fire pit, and then turned toward his brother. Merle was just emerging from the undergrowth, his demeanor completely relaxed. It just made Daryl angrier; he stood there a few more minutes, glowering at him and trying to decide what he should say first.

Merle broke the silence as he let out an exasperated sigh. "_What,_ baby brother?" he groaned, rubbing the back of his head with one of his hands. "Ya gon' give me hell for puttin' that pussy in his place?"

Daryl let out an irritated growl. "Yeah, I am! Ya can't go around fuckin' wit people like that! It's gonna come back and bite us both in the ass, and ya know that! We can't fuck this up, not now! The fuckin' dead are walking out there, and—"

"And we're bein' led by some pussy wearin' a badge," Merle snorted, folding his arms across his chest. The older Dixon leaned up against the stump of a nearby tree. "We should do it now. Get it over with, and then get the hell out."

"We can't. Ya know that. We don't even know where they're keepin' all the good stuff," Daryl answered grimly.

"Don't tell me ya're backin' out!" Merle said, shoving himself away from the tree and starting toward him with narrowed eyes.

Daryl watched his brother warily. He instinctively reached for his crossbow, but Merle's hand darted out and grabbed his wrist. "Are you?" Merle asked darkly.

The hunter suppressed a shudder as he shook his head. "No."

"Good," his brother allowed, dropping his wrist casually. "If yer so worried about finding everythin', talk ta someone. Figure out where everythin' is and then we can take it one night and be on our way."

As Merle turned away, Daryl felt his stomach twist with guilt. Merle was his brother—the only family he had left in the world—but those people didn't deserve what they were planning. From the beginning, Merle's plan had been to find a group of survivors, gain their trust, and then steal them blind. At first, it had seemed like a good plan—they'd get food, meds, and whatever else they needed with very little work. But now that they were going to try to pull it off—now that they were with a group of people fighting for their lives, Daryl had come to hate the idea. He thought of the kids—what happened if one of them got sick and the group didn't have medicine to take care of them because he and his idiot brother had stolen it?

"What's tha matter, Darylina?" Merle sneered, sitting on the long next to his brother's crossbow. "Ya ain't goin' soft, are ya?" he laughed.

With a sigh, Daryl shook his head. "No… I ain't goin' soft."

"Then what'cha thinkin' 'bout so damn carefully?" he inquired, pulling out a knife from the sheath attacked to his belt.

"Nothin'," he lied.

Merle chuckled in response. Daryl watched impassively as Merle admired the blade in his hands. "We can do this," he said, half to himself. "We can pull this off. And we'll… stop anyone that gets in our way."

A shiver went up the younger brother's spine as he thought of what Merle really meant. From the day he'd been born, Merle Dixon had been one tough son of a bitch. He had a reputation of being a drug addict, a womanizer, a racist, and a hard-ass in general, but he had never been labeled a murderer. Yet, as Daryl stood there, staring at the man he called brother, he realized that that may very soon change.

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Daryl watched as the flames splayed upward as he deposited another log into the fire. Merle had gone to bed about an hour ago, but he wasn't quite ready to retire just yet. There were too many thoughts swimming around in his brain yet. His mind kept returning to one subject: his mother. What would she say if she saw him now? Would she still love him if she knew that he was going to steal from the people who had welcomed him? How would she react knowing that he was planning to condemn these people to death?

The hunter let out a sigh and covered his face with his hands. That was when he heard it.

Crying.

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A/N: Review? :D


	3. Chapter 3

_Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 3_

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**Okay, here we go.**

**I PROMISE that the next chapter will have Caryl in it. :)**

**I promise.**

**I don't own The Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Three**

Carol walked back to her tent, holding her basket of clothes under one arm. The sun was just beginning to set in the western skies, casting an array of colors across the sky. Oranges, reds, yellows, pinks, blues, and even purples, were splashed across the sky as if by an artist's hand. Birds trilled their songs in the canopy overhead, sending a wave of serenity over the gray-haired woman. She was oddly content out in the forest. Here, she was far away from the anger of her husband and the stress of the apocalypse. Here, things felt… almost normal. It was as if the world had not ended, and almost all of the people she loved and cared about were dead, or undead.

When she reached the camp, she was greeted by Lori. The younger woman gave her a friendly wave before walking over to Shane. The police officer was emerging from the RV with a scowl on his face. Carol watched with mild interest, wondering what had happened to make him so upset. As she walked by, she overheard what Shane was saying.

"Damn rednecks," he muttered, rubbing his head tiredly. "Think they can come in here and run the fuckin' show."

Lori rubbed his arm sympathetically. "I know, but it's just the way they are. They'll come around."

Shane snorted. "I dunno if I want 'em to."

Carol, not wanting to make her eavesdropping obvious kept walking until she was out of earshot. She had no doubt who Shane was talking about: the Dixon brothers that Andrea had mentioned earlier down by the pond. Carol had had little to no contact with them, which she was glad for. From what she'd heard, they were two rugged, uneducated rednecks that were only in the group because the younger brother was a pretty good hunter. All she really knew about them was their names, and that the younger one was a hunter and older one was a racist, sexist, and a drug-addict on top of that.

They were certainly not the kind of people that Carol would ever associate with.

Even though there were more than enough reasons to persecute the two brothers, Carol felt a little guilty doing so. She never did like judging books by their covers; she didn't even know Merle and Daryl Dixon that well. Maybe they were just as bad as they sounded, or maybe there was something more. She didn't know, and she probably never would. She had never even made eye contact with either of the brothers let alone spoken to them.

Carol pushed the two brothers from her mind, knowing it was useless to continue that train of thought. She went over to a small copse of trees where the women had hung fishing line between the branches, creating a place to hang their clothes to dry. Setting the basket on the ground beside her, Carol began to hang up her family's clothes, taking pleasure in the domestic task. It was just another activity that kept her from thinking about the fact that the dead now walked and had an appetite for human flesh.

She had gotten a little more than half of her clothes hung when she heard someone approaching from behind her. Carol turned, expecting to see Lori, or one of the other women with their own basket. Instead, she saw Ed stalking toward her. The mere sight of him was like a kick in the gut. Carol turned away from him, closing her eyes and bracing herself from the beating that she knew was coming.

"Ya almost done?" he asked, his voice characteristically tight.

"Yes," Carol breathed. She picked up another item of clothing from her basket and gripped it tightly. She tried to hide the tremors that were already plaguing her body. She hated the beatings, then again, who wouldn't?

Ed nodded in approval. "Good. When ya're done, meet me behind our tent," he instructed. Without even waiting for her to reply, he walked off.

To any onlooker, it would appear like a relatively normal scene—a husband and wife interacting, and him asking her to meet him someplace, most likely to talk, or perhaps even fool around. But this was not a normal scene, nor a normal relationship. Ed's request sounded so harmless to anyone else's ears, but it was agonizing to hers. She knew that he would beat her tonight, perhaps even rape her again. She had quit calling it sex a long time ago; she didn't want it, and she never gave him consent to do it, but he did it anyway. He held her down and covered her mouth sometimes if necessary.

Carol slowed her pace, taking as long as she could to hang the rest of the close. She didn't want to go back there; she didn't want to go through whatever he had planned. She tried to block out the thoughts of what was waiting for her, and tried to let her mind wander. But it couldn't. It couldn't find room to be happy anymore. She couldn't focus on the birds' love songs in the trees. She couldn't think about her darling Sophia. Hell, she even tried to think about the Dixon brothers, but even they were blocked out by her fear of what was to come.

Carol began to wonder if she would ever escape that fear. She wondered if she'd ever be able to overcome her fear of Ed and leave him. She wondered if she could ever find a new life. She wondered if she could ever find happiness again; happiness with Sophia.

That's all she wanted.

Happiness.

She didn't want to be afraid anymore.

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Carol had waited as long as she could, but now she could no longer avoid it. After tucking Sophia into bed, she entered the woods behind her tent. Ed had left a small, but distinctive trail for her to follow, so even in the shadows of the dense forest where even the moonlight could not seem to penetrate, she would know where to go.

She found her husband leaning up against a tree, and his hands in his pockets. "Ya took yer damn time," he commented before spitting on the ground in front of him.

Trying not to grimace, she shrugged. "Lori… Lori said she needed my help with making dinner, and then I had to tuck Sophia in… I'm sorry I'm late. I tried to get here quickly."

He snorted. "I bet'cha did."

She didn't reply. Her heart began to pound as Ed started toward her, pulling his hands out of his pockets. Carol's body tensed as she braced herself for his attack. The blow came hard and fast to her ribcage, making her stagger. She knew from the strength of the punch that it was his right hand; he'd hit her so much that she had learned to tell the difference between his fists. She let out a hiss of pain between her teeth as she struggled to keep from doubling over. Pain erupted like a volcano on her left side; she knew she'd have one hell of a bruise there the following morning.

"Ya're a fuckin' liar, ya know that?" he growled.

When she didn't answer again, he hit her right in the gut. Left hand this time; it wasn't as strong of a hit. It was still more than enough to send her to the ground. She clutched at her abdomen that now felt like it was on fire. Tears were in her eyes, blurring her vision. She wanted to cry out for help. She wanted Ed to be stopped. She didn't want to go through this again.

Ed grabbed her by the arm and roughly yanked her to her feet. "I ain't gonna get down on my fuckin' knees ta hit ya, ya stupid bitch!" he snarled before backhanding her in the face.

Carol cried out, and fell to the ground once more. The familiar taste of metal flooded her mouth as she realized she'd bitten her lower lip. She spat out the blood, her body trembling sobs that were rising in her throat. She yelped as Ed's foot collided with her side, sending a new wave of pain throughout her body.

Ed kicked her over and over until she was certain that _at least_ one of her ribs was broken. After what seemed like a century, his assault finally concluded. "Next time, ya come when I fuckin' tell ya to, got it?!" he roared. He gave her one final kick before storming off, leaving her to find her own way back to the camp.

She waited a few minutes so she was sure that he was long gone before she began to test her limbs. Her arms and legs seemed fine, but her torso hurt like all hell. Her lip was throbbing from where she'd bitten it, and her face ached from where he'd hit her. She couldn't go back to camp like this. She couldn't let Sophia see her like this.

Her body trembled as she painfully pulled her knees up to her chest. Thinking that no one would be able to hear her, Carol began to sob uncontrollably. The sounds of her pain echoed throughout the forest, drowning out the rustling of animals in the undergrowth, and hooting of owls as they left their nests to hunt. They were the only ones that would hear her. They were the only ones that would know her anguish.

Little did she know, the animals were not the only ones that would hear her.

Nearby, a hunter sat by his fire watching the dancing flames. He too heard her cries, and, out of pure curiosity, decided to investigate.

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A/N: Review? :)


	4. Chapter 4

_Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 4_

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**Sorry it took so long for this chapter to come out; I had it all typed up and then my computer crashed, so everything was deleted. **

**So I had to rewrite it.**

**I intended it to be longer, but, oh well. Hope you enjoy.**

**I don't own The Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Four**

Daryl walked through the woods in utter silence. He knew how to tread quietly when he wanted to; he was almost good enough to sneak up on a buck without it even having an inkling of his presence. He crept closer in the direction of the sobbing, being careful to not disturb any leaf litter, or step on any twigs.

He knew by the sound and volume of the sobs that it was definitely a woman. Of course, he had already guessed that—he wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but he knew that most of the men in camp would never go out in the middle of the forest to cry like a baby. Then again, he hardly knew those men any better than any walker he'd killed. For all he knew, those men could cry every day.

Originally he'd hoped that, as he got closer, he'd be able to determine whether or not the crier was in pain. This wouldn't be the first crying woman he'd found, and usually, he could tell if they were crying from pain. More often than not, he'd hear an "ow" or "help" if they were injured. This one didn't have any words in her sobs, just incoherent mumblings.

Daryl had one hand on the knife at his belt as he approached, prepared to draw it from its sheath at any moment. That particular night had been one of those extremely rare events that Daryl Dixon forgot his crossbow. He'd been so eager to find whoever was out in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night, that he'd left it beside the fire_. I'm lucky as hell that I always carry my knife,_ he thought before shaking his head. _Ya're a fuckin' idiot, Daryl! Ya can't go runnin' off like that without takin' precautions! Merle'd skin ya if he found out what ya did tonight!_

Even in the dark, it didn't take him long to find her. She was huddled on a small game trail, her face buried in her hands. Her body heaved and shook whenever one of the sounds ripped from her throat. She wasn't loud, but there was a force—a real pain behind each and every cry she let out. She wore a baggy, gray sleeveless shirt and an old pair of brown capris, but she made it look… oddly elegant. Beads of sweat glistened on her face and neck, and some of the longer strands of her silver hair clung to her damp skin.

Daryl's eyes ran over her body, looking for any visible injuries, mainly bites. Maybe she had been wandering around out here, got bit and was not crying about it. His grip on his knife tightened at the thought. Of course he didn't want to kill the poor woman, but if she was bitten, there was nothing he could do. He took another step forward, narrowing his eyes to get a better look. Her body was speckled with the little moonlight that could filter through the dense canopy, making it hard see specific details. Lost in his own thoughts, he forgot to look where he was going.

_Snap!_

A twig buckled under his weight, the sound echoing in the silence of the night. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!_ The woman let out a fearful gasp and shrunk away from the sound. She looked up and immediately spotted him in the shadows.

Daryl's breath hitched as he locked eyes with her. Her eyes were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen in entire life. They were like twin crystals, gazing up at him. Even though they were still filled with tears, they had a light in them—a fire that Daryl recognized and understood. The light was so bright, it made her eyes shine, putting every single star in the sky to shame. Although her face betrayed her mortification and anxiety, it still retained beauty. Daryl allowed his eyes to move from her eyes, down to the soft lines of her cheeks, to her small, pink lips that were slightly parted, and then to her long, graceful neck.

He stared at her, breathless, and entranced. He'd seen this woman before—in the camp with the other women, but he'd never paid much attention to her. Merle had commented on her once or twice, calling her a mousy woman that "scurried about, afraid of her own shadow". Daryl had just nodded lazily, not really paying attention to, or caring about his comment. He wished that Merle had mentioned her name. That way he could talk to her, comfort her, tell her everything would be—

Daryl stopped himself mid-thought. What the hell was he thinking? He was Daryl fucking Dixon and this was just some sad woman in the forest! He had his own problems to deal with, and yet he was thinking about _comforting_ her?! The _last_ thing he needed was to worry about her, yet why did he?

He pursed his lips in irritation and tried not to scowl at the woman before him.

It made no sense.

It made no fucking sense.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" the woman whispered, averting her eyes to the ground. "I…" she paused, being cut off by her own sob. "I know I should be… be out here… but… but… I… I…."

Daryl's stomach twisted as her little composure crumbled. He began to feel a little awkward standing there in the darkness like some creep, so he stepped out onto the little trail. Without thinking, he crouched down so he wasn't towering over her and watched as she cried. He desperately wanted to speak to her—offer her some words of comfort—but he couldn't. Daryl could fight off a horde of walkers, fix any motorcycle, take apart and put back together any weapon, but he didn't know a damn thing about women, or how to talk to them. In fact, he didn't know much about humans in general.

All his life, he'd been a loner—sticking to the outdoors and his solitude. With no mother for the majority of his life and an abusive, alcoholic for a father, Daryl pretty much raised himself. What he didn't teach himself, Merle taught him. That meant that everything Daryl knew about how to socialize with other people, how to treat a woman, and how to be a productive member of society all came from Merle Dixon.

_No wonder I ain't got no friends,_ Daryl thought with bitter amusement.

After a few minutes, the woman seemed to get herself under control. She took a deep, shaky breath and looked up at him. "I'm sorry… Really, I am."

"Quit apologizin'," Daryl answered gruffly. "I ain't condemnin' ya."

She nodded quickly and looked down again. That was when Daryl noticed the slight discoloration of her face. One side looked a bit redder than the other, almost as if she'd been hit. "What 'appened there?" he asked softly, gesturing to her face.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. Instinctively, she hugged herself, hiding her abdomen from view. "It's… nothing."

Daryl didn't believe that for a second, but nodded. "Who are ya and what are ya doin' out here this time 'a night?"

"C-Carol," she choked out, tears reappearing in her eyes. "My name is Carol."

He smiled grimly, already hating seeing her cry. "Howdy, Carol. I'm Daryl Dixon. Now, tell me what happened, and don't bullshit me. I know yer hurt, and I wanna know why."

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Review? :)


	5. Chapter 5

_Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 5_

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**Sorry for the long wait guys. Writer's block sucks.**

**I don't own The Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Five**

Carol stared at the redneck hunter with wide eyes. She knew who he was—who didn't?—but what she didn't know was why he was there, and why he was concerned. It seemed so uncharacteristic of Daryl Dixon to take interest in a mousy woman like her. In her mind, she wasn't anything special; in fact, she was average _at best._ Her breasts were too small, her hair too gray, and, in her opinion, her eyes always looked sad and dull. Why did he care about her?

"I… I…" she stammered, struggling for the right words. What could she possibly say? Certainly not the truth; Ed would murder her if she told anyone about what he did to her. She wanted to—she did, but it was her fear of her husband that kept her silent. _He'd be absolutely livid if I told anyone…_

"Well?" the hunter inquired, arching an eyebrow. The gesture made him look devilishly handsome. "Ya gonna tell me, or am I gonna have ta get ya ta talk?"

Carol shivered at the thought of how exactly he would accomplish that. His thick Southern drawl made her skin prickle even more. She knew one sure-fire way—_No,_ she thought, closing her eyes for a split second. _Stop this Carol. You're a grown woman for the love of God, not some silly teenager who thinks the first attractive man they meet is gonna sweep them off their feet! Get a hold of yourself!_ "It's none of your business," she told him, surprised by her own boldness. _You'd think a domestic violence victim would be timid as fuck,_ she thought with little amusement. _If only Ed heard what went on in my head..._

Daryl blinked in response. "I think it is when ya're puttin' me an' my brother at risk by bein' out 'ere, attractin' walkers!" he snapped. His harsh tone made her flinch. She stared at the ground, not daring to look at his face. She could hear the bubbling rage in his voice already. _Damn it all, Carol. Now look what you've done! A guy's tryin' to help you, and you screw it up!_

For a moment, she contemplated apologizing. Getting on her knees and begging to be spared a beating never worked with Ed, but it might work with this redneck. Just as she was about to open her mouth to do so, she saw his legs move. The hunter stood very slowly and took a few steps back.

"'S'all right. I ain't gonan hurt ya," he whispered. If she didn't know he was there, she would have easily believed that he was just another shadow in the darkness.

_He must have noticed me flinch…_ she thought, still not looking at him.

"Is that why yer out 'ere?" he queried. "Ya gettin' hit?"

Carol bit her lip, and refused to meet his eyes.

Daryl Dixon was quiet for the longest time. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned away from her, and vanished into the forest. Carol pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. He knew the truth now, and God only knows what he was going to do with his newfound knowledge. What if he told Shane? Carol knew that Lori and the other women knew what went on between her and Ed, and they had all offered their help. She had turned all of them down, saying that they would only make it worse. If Daryl decided to tell Shane, the former cop would surely start something—anything to show his authority. He might even physically threaten Ed, and if that happened…

Carol shuddered at the thought.

_Would Ed kill me?_ she wondered. She knew it was possible.

The snap of a twig made her nearly jump out of her skin. Her head jerked up, and she locked eyes with the hunter. At first she was confused. _He… came back…?_ Daryl stared into her eyes for a moment, his own glazed over with sympathy, and something that looked like personal pain. Carol was the first one to break their gaze, and allowed her eyes to wander. She noticed that he held something in his hand - some kind of plant… a flower.

"It's chamomile. Ya crush it up and put it on yer bruises. It helps the pain, and helps it heal faster," he explained. Daryl stared at the ground, as he awkwardly offered her the white flower.

Carol took it hesitantly. "Th… thank you…" she whispered, wishing she could see the expression on his face.

"Yeah," he grunted before retreating back into the woods. He looked like he was gonna leave her, then, but stopped. "Ya need help back ta camp?"

She shook her head quickly. "N-no… I can manage."

He nodded. "It yer husband?"

She didn't answer him then.

Her silence seemed to confirm his suspicions. He clenched his hands into fists and set his jaw. Carol felt slightly scared, but slightly turned on by this gesture. Yet, she didn't understand why he was so upset. Why does he care so much?

"I…" Daryl spoke, not meeting her gaze. "I… I could kill 'im."

Carol stared at him in shock. Was he actually offering? The thought of a life without Ed Peletier seemed too good to be true. She would never have to be afraid again… never have to worry about him touching Sophia as she got older. She could raise her daughter in peace, and maybe find a nice man with a good code to settle down with. But, she couldn't accept his offer. She had no idea what his motivation for asking was, and she didn't really want to know. For all she knew, Daryl could betray her and tell Ed that his wife wanted him dead.

"Why?" she asked, surprised at how her voice sounded. She didn't sound scared, or horrified at the suggestion, but genuinely curious.

Daryl blinked. "Why kill 'im, or why am I offerin'?"

"Why are you offering?"

The hunter hung his head for a moment, studying his shoes. Carol was sure he wouldn't answer, but he did. "I jus' know how it feels ta get beat… And ya don't need ta go through that shit… That's all."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, but forced a smile. "Well… Uh… thanks, but no thanks…"

He nodded, his face void of emotion. "Ya ever need help… ya jus' give me a holler, and I'll come runnin'." A smirk spread across his face. Carol's heart leapt into her throat. "Ya remember my name?"

Carol's fake smile then became real. "Daryl Dixon, right?"

"Damn straight." And then he was gone.

* * *

A/N: I did a little research on Chamomile and it says that it can be used to treat bruises in the manner described in the chapter. Whether this is factual or not, I don't know; I'm just going by the information I gathered from the Internet. Thanks for being patient guys. Review?


	6. Chapter 6

_Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 6_

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**Hey guys, I know this is a quick update, but hopefully it will make up for the long wait on the last one. **

**I don't own The Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Six**

Daryl stormed into the camp, not caring whether or not he woke Merle. There was an anger inside him—an anger he'd only felt once before. There was something about that woman sitting all by herself in the forest crying after her beating that woke the beast inside him.

The hunter was no stranger to abuse—domestic or otherwise. He'd grown up watching his father beat the shit out of his mother, and once she died, he turned his attention to his sons. He beat Merle first, and pushed his eldest son over the edge. It was their father's abuse that turned Merle into what he was—a delinquent who tried to get into a juvenile detention facility just to avoid getting his ass beat. But when Merle was gone, it was Daryl that got all the negative attention.

He winced as the memories of his childhood swept over him like a tidal wave. He was lost in the undertow, memories that he would much rather forget jerking him around as if he was a ragdoll.

* * *

_He hid in his closet, curled up into the corner. He clamped his hands over his ears, trying to bloke out the sounds of a fight going on downstairs in the living room. He could hear the shattering of plates, the slamming of furniture that was pushed over, the thumping of feet, and the shouts of his father and brother. _

_ "Ya're an ungrateful bastard!" his father snarled. There was another crash. Daryl flinched. _

_ "Fuck you!" Merle roared in response. There was a loud thump, and then an eerie silence. _

_ Daryl pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself. For several minutes, he waited in fear. Who would come up the stairs to find him? His father, or his brother? The boy nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the stairs creak. He made a fist and put it in his mouth to keep from crying out. He knew that if he made so much as a whimper, his father would find him._

_ "Daryl?" Merle's voice came from the hall._

_ A wave of relief washed over the younger Dixon. He exited the closet and rushed out of his rooms. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks, but didn't bother to wipe them away. Daryl flung open the door of his room, to see his brother standing by the door. Merle's nose was bloody, and a stream of crimson liquid ran down his face and dripped off his chin. The left side of his forehead was also bleeding, but Daryl couldn't tell if it had been a deliberate slice, or just a gash that occurred in the heat of the fight. Other than that, he looked alright._

_ Without thinking, Daryl threw his arms around his brother's waist and hugged him as tightly as he could. For a moment, Merle stood as still as a statue. The brothers never displayed such affection for each other, even when their father tried to beat the skins off them. Tonight was different for some reason. Tonight, Daryl had been more terrified than usual._

_ "Now, quit that," Merle said, pushing his little brother away, but not roughly. "Ain't no need for it."_

_ "He's…" Daryl began, sniffling. "He's getting… angrier…"_

_ The older Dixon frowned. "I know, kid. I know. One a these days, Imma get us outta this hellhole. It'll be jus' you and me. We'll be able ta make it on our own. An', we won't have ta worry about any dickheads like Pa gettin' in tha way, tellin' us what ta do. We'll be our own men."_

_ Even though he would never admit it, Daryl loved that idea more than he'd ever loved anything in his entire life._

_ If only things had turned out that way._

* * *

_Daryl was about twelve when Merle left their father's house for good. He hadn't meant to go; he wanted to stay and try to get custody of his little brother. But one night changed everything._

_ The brothers were in the living room. Daryl lay prone on the floor by the television set, reading a comic book, and Merle was on the couch, writing some kind of letter. Daryl had asked what it was, and Merle said it was a letter to a guy he wanted to work for. When he tried to ask more questions, Merle told him to shut up and let him work. Daryl wasn't bothered by his brother's sharpness—he was used to it, and he greatly preferred Merle's unwelcoming attitude than his father's wrath. _

_ Suddenly, the front door burst open. Merle jumped up from the couch. When Daryl tried to sit up, Merle motioned for him to stay down. In the door stood their father; he swayed from intoxication and awkwardly stumbled into the house. "MERLE!" he shouted._

_ Daryl saw fear ghost across his brother's face only to be replaced with rage. He went over to his brother and jerked him off the floor. Daryl knew what to do before Merle even said it: "Hide."_

_ As he made a dash for the stairs, his father stumbled forward. For a split second, Daryl thought he would make it to the safety of his room, but he wasn't fast enough. His father grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back toward him._

_ "DON'T YA FUCKIN' TOUCH HIM!" Merle thundered, rushing toward his father._

_ Daryl was shaking, anticipating the pain that was to come. "Stop sniveling, you useless, little bitch!" his father snarled before backhanding him. Daryl yelped, and stumbled backward. If his father hadn't been holding him up, the hit would have knocked him over. At first, he didn't feel any pain, but then his face began to throb. _

_ "YOU FUCKER!" Merle bellowed, thrusting himself in between his father and little brother. _

_ His father let go of Daryl's mop, and glared at his older son murderously. There was no trace of love in his eyes—there wasn't even any indication that this was his son he was looking at. "Ya got somethin' ta say ta me, queer?"_

_ Merle narrowed his eyes. "If. You. Touch. Daryl. Again. I. Will. Kill. You."_

_ His brother's voice made Daryl's blood run cold. He'd never heard Merle sound so intimidating in his life. Both brothers had been through more shit than they deserved, but Merle laughed off most serious situations. The only time he ever got truly furious was when someone threatened Daryl. Even then, Merle had never been so enraged._

_ "Ya don't have the guts!" their father sneered. He leered at Merle, before shooting a hateful glance at Daryl, who cowered behind his brother. "You!" he hissed, making a grab for him._

_ Merle snatched their father's wrist before it could even get close to his little brother. Daryl stared in a horror as the muscles in his brother's arm contracted. Using his other hand, Merle snapped their father's hand backward, breaking his wrist. Their father let out a growl of pain and tried to shove Merle away._

_ He didn't budge._

_ "If you try to hurt my baby brother again," Merle warned. "I will break more than your wrist! You don't think I will, but I swear to you that hurting Daryl will be the last thing you do!" _

_ "Ya can't kill me!" their father taunted. "If ya do, you'll get put away for the rest a yer life! Ya think ya'll be takin' care a that waste a space, but ya'll just be screwin' 'im over!"_

_ Merle glowered at him, but Daryl saw his brother's body tense. "Daryl," he said; his voice was eerily calm. Daryl gulped. "Go to your room, and lock the door. Don't come out no matter what ya hear."_

_ The boy tried not to tremble—he really did, but he failed. "Wh... what are ya gonna do?"  
_

_"I said go ta yer room!" Merle snapped. _

_ Daryl sprinted up the stairs, his heart in his throat. Little did he know, that would be the last time he would see his brother for next four years._

* * *

_After Merle left, life for Daryl Dixon was a living hell. His brother had left without a word, leaving him to deal with their father's fury. For four years, he took the beatings from his father, still too young and too weak to fight back. He had hoped that if he stopped trying to resist his father's abuse and just accepted it, that it would be easier. However, the more he accepted it, the worse the cruelty became._

_ First it was just slapping and punching. Then it was the belt. And then it was whatever his father could reach. As far as his father was concerned, it was perfectly alright to break a plate on his son's head if he wanted to. _

_ During this time, Daryl learned to hate his brother. Merle had always been there when he was little; he looked after him, and protected him. Daryl knew that Merle wouldn't always be there, but he didn't think he would leave until Daryl was old enough to defend himself. And at twelve, Daryl was anything but prepared to fight his father that was built like an ox. The only one that could ever fight Will Dixon and win was Merle, and Merle was gone._

_ When Daryl turned sixteen, he was finally big enough and strong enough to fight back. He couldn't win, or knock his father out like Merle could, but at least he could put up somewhat of a fight. Also after he'd turned sixteen, Merle finally returned._

_ Daryl wasn't even at home when Merle arrived—he was out in the woods behind his house, shooting squirrels with a crossbow he'd bought. He had worked all summer to save up enough money for that crossbow, and he treated it as if it were his biological child. He was taking aim at a squirrel when he heard footsteps approach him from behind. Daryl fired too quickly, and missed. The squirrel let out a frightened squeak and scampered out of sight._

_ Cursing, Daryl went to retrieve his arrow, not even bothering to face his visitor._

_ "Ya gotta work on yer aim, little brother."_

_ Daryl froze. He knew that voice like the back of his hand. He stood up and spun around to see Merle standing there, leaning against a tree and smirking. Daryl stood straight as a rail, and stiff and one too. He didn't know how to react; his brother had been gone for four years, leaving him to suffer at their father's hands. A rage that could put their father to shame erupted within him. He stalked forward and punched his brother as hard as he could in the face. _

_ Merle staggered backward, and nearly fell on his ass. "Ya fuckin'… Fuck!" he swore, clutching his nose. When he removed his hands, Daryl saw the blood dripping onto his brother's shirt, and felt an odd sense of pride. _

_ "That's what ya get for leavin' me like that!" Daryl had meant for it to sound cold and unwelcoming, but there was more relief in his voice that he would have liked. Even though he still hated his brother for ditching him, he was glad that he had finally come back. Maybe now they could get out of that awful place._

_ And they did._

* * *

The sound of Merle exiting the tent snapped Daryl out of his reminiscence. "Tha fuck…?" He looked around tiredly, his face betraying his annoyance at being woken up in the middle of the night. "We bein' attacked or somethin'?"

"Nah," Daryl replied simply. He picked up his crossbow, and began to examine it, in hopes of distracting himself from everything he had just recalled.

"Then why the fuck d'ya have ta make so much goddamn racket?!" Merle barked. For a second, Daryl thought his brother was going to come out and continue to rant. Thankfully, the older Dixon brother seemed too tired to unleash his full irritation, and retreated inside the tent.

Alone once more, Daryl thought of the woman in the woods. _What was 'er name? Carol…? Yeah, I think that was it… _She was a tiny, frail little thing; she looked like if you so much as bumped her she'd shatter into a million pieces. The woman just seemed so breakable, and her husband didn't seem to notice, or care.

Daryl glowered at the smoldering embers of the fire. Her husband. Her husband was no different than his father—just a sick asshole that enjoyed beating the crap out of his family. Daryl though that the woman had a daughter, but he couldn't remember correctly. His stomach twisted itself into a knot as he began to wonder what that man did to his daughter.

_I should kill him, _Daryl thought darkly. He wanted to kill him, but not because of the crying woman in the woods. Sure, she didn't deserve to get beaten like a dog, but there was a more personal reason for Daryl wanting to rip this guy apart.

He wanted revenge.

Daryl never could kill his father; he wanted to, but never could. He didn't have the balls to do it, and he suffered for his weakness. But he _could _kill this man, and stop him from hurting anyone else, and that seemed like enough. The woman—Carol—wouldn't have to live in fear like Daryl's mother did. The daughter—if there was one—wouldn't have to go through what Daryl went through, or worse.

That night, Daryl Dixon did not go to sleep. He stayed up until dawn broke on the eastern horizon, plotting the murder of Ed Peletier.

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A/N: Hey guys, just to let you know, I've been told that there is another fic out here that is very, very similar to this one. To clear things up, I do not know anything about this fic - I don't even know the title of it. I just want you all to know that none of the similarities are intentional. Like I said, I do not know the fic that was mentioned, nor have I ever read it. This is a bit of a common idea - him wanting to go after Ed, and them having an affair before his death - so I'm not surprised that there is one out there, I just have not read it. I just wanted to clear that up so you wouldn't get the wrong idea. Thank you for reading, and for your consideration. If anyone has a problem with this, you can PM me, but I'm afraid there isn't much I can do. This story will eventually become it's own and, hopefully, take a different direction than the other fic. It's early on yet and there are still a lot of characters, and a lot of plot points to be introduced yet, so we'll see how it goes. Thanks again.

Anyway, enough of the serious stuff. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Review?


	7. Chapter 7

Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 7

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**Hey y'all. Sorry for the long wait. I have been incredibly busy with school work. I am also in a play, and I have been rehearsing every night. After school, I have to do chores at home (and I live on a farm so that means I have a shit ton of work to do) and then I go straight to play practice and I'm there from 6 to 9 Monday through Thursday. On Fridays it's from 6 to 10, and every now and then we have Saturday practices and on Sunday I have family get-togethers and church, so... yeah. Oh, and the play's opening night is 11 days from now. And we have not even gotten through Act 2 yet. Plus, in between all that, I have to do homework, which includes reading and writing like seven papers on every book I read for my English class, and also other homework for Trig and Anatomy. **

**So, saying I'm stressed is a bit of an understatement, but I promise that once all of this play business is done, I'll have much more time to write. I'll make it up to you, I promise.**

**I don't own The Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Seven**

Carol stumbled back to camp in the dark. Her mind was whirling from her conversation with the redneck. A state of disbelief began to take over her; had Daryl Dixon really offered to kill her husband? She didn't know if that had actually been said or not. Her head was spinning, but that might have been from Ed's beating. Looking back on it, she found it hard to believe that he would ever do such a thing.

She was not going to lie: her head hurt like hell, her vision was blurry, and Daryl Dixon had looked like a knight in shining armor back there. It was perfectly possible and plausible that her unsound mind made the entire conversation up. For all she knew, Daryl hadn't even been there in the first place.

_Yes he was, _a small part of her insisted. She glanced down at the chamomile in her hands, as if seeing it for the first time. The white flower became focused and then unfocused while her head continued to pound. _He was there. He gave me this flower… And he offered to kill Ed._

She wondered what her life would be like without Ed. Things would be so different... so much better. She and Sophia could actually be happy... They could have a normal life. They could be a family.

* * *

_She met Ed Peletier in college. Carol was majoring in English, and had no classes with the tall, burly man. She didn't even see him until her friend introduced them. Back then, Carol was an entirely different person; vivacious, happy-go-lucky, optimistic, adventurous, and a hopeless romantic. She longed for a tan, muscular man to wrap his arms around her and kiss her over and over and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. She romanticized what love was, and had an outlandish, naïve expectation of it. All the movies she watched, all the books she read—none of them captured how things truly were; none of them prepared her for Ed._

_ In a way, she was desperate. It wasn't that she wasn't beautiful—in fact, Carol was a very beautiful woman. But, with three older sisters that always seemed to be better than her in every way possible, she never considered herself worth much. Even though there were many guys that looked at her with hungry, lustful eyes, and spent good amounts of time imagining what it would be like to have her in their bed for just one night, Carol never noticed. It wasn't that she was humble, she just had no self-esteem whatsoever, and that made it even easier for Ed to earn her trust._

_ Carol's friend, Melody, had introduced them at a party. Ed had seemed nice enough—relatively handsome, athletic, broad-shouldered, muscular but not overly so (his gut was a bit large, even then), and he seemed to be a relatively good guy. Carol had made small talk with him, mostly just asking him about school and what he was majoring in._

_ Ed rarely talked about himself, and always seemed to turn the conversation around so it would focus on Carol. The man seemed to want to know all he could about her. After about an hour and a few drinks, she was telling him her life story. To her surprise, Ed didn't seem to mind that she was blabbing on about silly stuff. In fact, he seemed to sympathize with her. Once she completed her long-winded story, he just gave her a gentle smile. "You deserve to get a little attention," he told her. His light blue eyes seemed to gleam in the dim light of the party._

_ Carol had just smiled at him. They talked for the rest of the night until they realized that they were virtually alone. There were a few couples passed out on the floor, some of them making out, but other than that, they were by themselves. Ed bid her goodnight and said he hoped that she would give him a call. _

_ When she got home, she couldn't wait until the next night when she could call him up. If only she knew what her harmless little relationship would spiral into._

* * *

Despite all the mental and physical abuse that she had received, there was one thing that made it all worth the while: Sophia. Her darling daughter was her only reason to live; the only thing she cared about. As far as Carol was concerned, Ed could do whatever he wanted to her—beat her, rape her, call her every dirty and nasty name that he could think of—and she would willingly take it as long as it meant he would leave Sophia alone. Her biggest fear was that, as Sophia grew older, Ed may begin to look at her as a new victim. If Ed ever tried to beat Sophia, or touch her in any way, Carol would kill him. If he did that to her, it was alright-she had been stupid enough to marry him; she fell for his false charm and empty words, so, in her mind, she deserved it. But Sophia was innocent. Sophia did nothing wrong.

* * *

_Carol was preparing dinner, and Sophia sat at the kitchen table doing homework. It was moments like these that Carol cherished—living her life with her daughter as if Ed didn't exist. While Ed was away at work, or out drinking, Carol and Sophia Peletier slipped into a blissful fantasy. They didn't have to deal with his yelling; they didn't have to worry about him beating them. They could just do their best to be happy and forget that even existed. _

_ She knew that her husband would be working late tonight, which made it even better. By the time Ed got home, Sophia would be in bed and Carol would most likely be doing the same, or sitting up reading. She would make Ed a plate and leave it in the microwave for him. After he ate, he usually liked to watch TV for a bit. Carol might be asleep before he even got to bed. And, hopefully, he was too exhausted for sex. _

_ That particular night, neither of them had been very lucky. What they thought would be a quiet, normal evening turned into a nightmare by the opening of a door. _

_ Carol's heart stopped in her chest when she heard the lock on the front door turn. Sophia was too absorbed in her math homework to notice, but Carol heard it as clear as day. As her husband turned the doorknob, Carol spun around, looking at her daughter with wild eyes. "Sophia, upstairs!" she hissed, beginning to clean off the kitchen table. _

_ The door opened, and she heard Ed's booming voice. "CAROL!" Her twelve-year-old daughter sprinted up the stairs at the sound. Carol's heart broke at the sight. Her daughter shouldn't have to be afraid in her own house. _

_ Ed stormed into the kitchen in drunken rage. He stopped about three feet away from her, but even from that distance, she could smell the alcohol on him. There were so many things she wanted to tell that man, so many names she would have liked to call him in that moment. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't a man—if anything he was a coward. Someone who could beat his defenseless wife, but trembled when faced with an equally-matched opponent. Despite everything she wanted to say, she knew better than that. She kept her mouth shut._

_ Carol interlocked her fingers and stared at the stove while Ed watched her. A pot of water was steaming on the stove, bubbles just blooming on the bottom of the pan. Next to the stove was a box of unopened pasta that was supposed to be their dinner. She bit her lip, waiting for Ed's rage._

_ "Where the fuck is dinner?" he demanded._

_ She gulped. "You're… you're home early, dear," she replied. "I was just getting it ready…"_

_ He slammed his fist down on the counter. Carol jumped, but stayed where she was. "YOU HAD ONE FUCKING JOB, WOMAN!" he roared. "YOU CAN'T EVEN DO ONE SIMPLE THING?! WHAT THE FUCK DID I MARRY YOUR SORRY ASS FOR?! OH, THAT'S RIGHT, BECAUSE YOU OPENED YOUR LEGS THE FIRST CHANCE YOU GOT AND NOW WE HAVE THAT LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT UPSTAIRS!"_

_ Tears sprung to Carol's eyes. She squeezed her hands, trying to keep herself from murdering him. It was bad enough that she treated her like she was less than dirt, but when he spoke about Sophia like that, it made her physically hurt. Shortly after she had married Ed Peletier, she'd realized that her husband could never love her, or their daughter. In fact, she believed it was safe to say that he would never truly love anything. "I'm sor—"_

_ Ed didn't let her finish, he stalked toward her, and grabbed her right shoulder with his massive hand. Carol closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as her husband's right fist collided with her face. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the kitchen floor, seeing stars. The familiar metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth, making her gag. She stayed there on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. All she wanted was to disappear. She wanted the pain to be over. She didn't want to be beaten, or terrorized anymore. There had to be an end. There had to be an out._

_ The next thing Carol knew, her torso was drenched in scalding water. She threw back her head and screamed. Somewhere nearby, she heard Sophia screaming and crying at the top of her lungs. Ed was yelling, telling both his wife and daughter to shut up. The pain was excruciating, every part of Carol's torso felt like it was being incinerated. She began shouting for help, hoping that one of the neighbors would hear. Someone had to. Someone had to help. She couldn't do this on her own anymore. She couldn't stand it._

_ "I SAID SHUT UP, YOU WHORE!" Ed bellowed before kicking her in the face._

_ That was when Carol's world went black._

* * *

_Ed had told the EMTs that she had slipped in the kitchen and had fallen into the stove, hit her head off the side, and the pan of water had fallen on her. Carol didn't know if they believed his story or not, but they didn't look any further into it. She wanted to tell them the truth. She wanted to get out of there and take her daughter away from the monster that was her father. Yet, she couldn't leave. Where on earth would she go?_

_ Carol had been in the hospital for weeks recovering from her burns. When she finally went home, Ed made no effort to apologize. He hardly even spoke to her. Sophia, who had been alone with him while Carol was in the hospital, assured her mother that nothing had happened. She said that they mostly ignored each other, which was a great relief to Carol. But she knew that the day would come when Ed would strike her daughter. And when that day came, she had no idea what she was going to do._

* * *

As she walked back to camp, her mind was racing with thoughts of her finally getting her revenge, and how to prevent him from ever hurting their daughter. She knew that Ed was her husband, and she knew that, in the eyes of God, they were meant to be together for as long as they both lived. She had taken vows, and now she wore his ring. She looked down at the silver band, and tried not to grimace in disgust. Once, it had brought her such joy, but now it felt like an iron cuff connected to a chain that Ed held, keeping her bound to him. The notion of taking it off and leaving him had often crossed her mind, especially after her daughter was born, but where would she go?

By the time Carol got married, her sisters were spread out across the country. One was up in New York, the other in Nevada. Her parents had passed away in a car crash shortly after Sophia was born, so she really had nowhere to go. She wasn't brave enough to travel the country by herself, and she didn't have anyone in the entire state of Georgia that was would help her.

That changed after the world ended. She met Lori, Jacqui, Andrea, and Amy. The four of them had become her friends, and encouraged her to leave Ed's sorry ass. They wanted to help, and Carol was sure that they would if she asked them to. But again, the problem of where they would go afterwards hung over her like a dark storm cloud. They couldn't leave the camp—that would be suicide—but if they stayed, Ed would never let them go. The only way he would give them up is if someone put a bullet in his head.

_Or an arrow in his ass,_ Carol thought with amusement. She remembered the younger Dixon brother's favorite warning. Her mind wandered back to her encounter with the normally loud, erratic redneck. There was something about him, something that made her heart leap into her throat. He was very easy on the eyes, and the way his arms flexed when he held his crossbow—

Carol shook her head, smiling to herself. She was acting like a teenage girl. She was over forty years old; she didn't need to be thinking about things like that. Yet, Daryl Dixon awoke something in her that she hadn't felt in decades.

When she reached the camp, she quietly walked over to her tent. But before she went inside, she looked down at the flower the younger Dixon brother had given her, and for the first time in a long time, Carol felt hope.

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A/N: Well, what did you think? Worth the wait? Be sure to leave a review and **tell me what you want to see next, or what you would like to see in the future.**


	8. Chapter 8

_Kiss Away My Sins - Chapter 8_

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**Have I ever told you guys how much I love Merle? I will never, ever forgive the Governor for killing Merle and Hershel. Never, ever, ever. Two amazing characters wasted. *shakes head* But there is a lot of Merle in this chapter. I always thought that, while Merle was a bit negligent at times, he was a good older brother. He cared deeply about Daryl and really wanted the best for him. He died, trying to protect his brother and give him a chance at a happy life with the people he cared about. So I'm a Merle fan. He will still be loud, obnoxious, racist, sexist, and all that other good stuff in this story, but I will show his caring side and how much he really cares about Daryl. He will still be an asshole to the rest of the group, and will still want to rob them blind, but he won't leave Daryl on his own, and will stay with him and stick by his side.**

**So, with that Merle explanation out of the way, on with the show.**

**I don't own the Walking Dead.**

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**Chapter Eight**

"Hey!" Merle snapped, causing Daryl to look up from polishing his crossbow. His brother stood outside his tent, shirtless and wearing khaki pants. His blood-stained, dirty white tank top was discarded on the ground beside him. The older Dixon had been talking for a few minutes about what they planned to do in the near future, but Daryl had hardly been listening. All he could think about was that bastard Ed Peletier. He remembered the look on Carol's face when he asked her about it—the fear that she was going to get punished because he knew the truth. He gripped his bow tighter at the thought.

Daryl was no stranger to physical abuse. He'd watched his dad beat his mom, and had watched his dad beat Merle, and then_ he_ had been the focus on the beatings after the prior died and the latter decided to skip town. He remembered how it felt to be cowering in his closet in fear. He remembered how terrified he was whenever his dad raised his hand. Hell, he even shuddered to this day at the sound of a belt being unbuckled. He knew what it was like, and he didn't wish it on anyone; not the quiet, helpless Carol, and especially not her innocent little girl. Daryl couldn't wait until he could finally get his hands on that son of a bitch.

"Are ya even listenin' ta a word I'm sayin', boy?" Merle demanded, pulling a black wife beater out of his backpack. "I'm tryin' ta figure out how we're gonna pull this off, so if ya could get yer head outta yer ass and 'elp me think, I'd appreciate it."

Daryl glared at his older brother in response and returned to his crossbow. He polished one of his arrows, staring at the sharp, fatal tip with appreciation. He imagined it piercing Ed Peletier's skull and send his fat ass to the ground with a satisfying thud.

Merle was watching him now with solicitous eyes. "Hey, what's eatin' ya?" he asked, sounding seriously concerned now.

He was about to shake his head and tell his brother to mind his own damn business, when an idea came to his head. Maybe he could get Merle's help. Merle was a lot of things—a racist, a sexist, a self-absorbed asshole, and (since the apocalypse) a murderer—but he was no rapist, and certainly wasn't a child molester. And, he hated men like their father. If he knew what Ed was doing to Carol—and Daryl had a gut-feeling that Carol was not _graciously giving_ sweet love to her husband, which only added to the man's sin count—and what he could potentially do in the future—in regards to the kid—Merle might help his little brother out.

"There's a guy 'ere that I… don't like," Daryl admitted. He didn't know how to say it, or how to make Merle see that something had to be done.

Merle Dixon laughed, he even threw back his head. "There's_ lots _a' people 'ere I don't like, little brother! Take Officer Douche for example."

Daryl shook his head. "No, I mean… this guy ain't good, Merle… He's like our daddy."

His brother stopped then, and suddenly became very interested in the ground. He scuffed his boot against the dry earth, and turned his back to Daryl. "So?"

"He's beatin' the shit outta 'is wife. Found 'er in the woods cryin' 'er eyes out. Ya look for 'er today. You'll see the bruises. They got a kid too; little girl," Daryl told him.

Merle was silent for a long time, appraising his brother's words. "The kid gettin' hurt?"

"Dunno."

"It ain't our problem," Merle decided, turning to face his brothers. His crystal-blue eyes were hard with finalism. "I know ya don't like it—I don't either—but we can't go stickin' our noses in other peoples' shit. Ya know that."

Daryl gritted his teeth together. "We can't just sit 'ere and do nothin'! What if he beats her to death?! What if he starts slappin' the kid around?" Merle turned away from him once more, prompting Daryl to leap to his feet. He gently set down his crossbow and stalked toward his brother. Daryl was about two feet away when Merle looked at him again. "For all we know, he could be rapin' the poor woman! The girl's probably thirteen, or somewhere 'round that! What if he starts touchin' 'er?!" Daryl was yelling now, but he didn't care.

Merle gave him a glare that was as cold as ice. "It. Ain't. Our. Problem."

"So ya'd let a woman be beaten and raped? Ya'd let a kid go through what we went through and then some?!" Daryl roared. "Ya're a fuckin' coward!"

That was when Merle lost it. Daryl didn't even have time to reach before his brother's fist collided with his cheek. The familiar, metallic taste of blood gushed into his mouth as he staggered backward. A few moments after the initial hit, the pain set in—a sharp, stinging one that Daryl knew indicated that it would bruise. He spat out the blood and looked at his brother. Merle stood there, both his hands clenched into tight fists, and his eyes narrowed. From the look in his eyes, Daryl was almost sure that Merle would come for him again, but he didn't. The older Dixon just stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Then he stomped over and grabbed the hunter by the shirt. "I ain't no coward!" he shouted in Daryl's face, as if punching him and screaming would help prove that statement. "Ya ain't got no idea what our old man did ta me! That's why I left! I woulda killed tha sonuvabitch if I stayed! Every day 'e beat me! He beat Ma before that! I was there, baby brother, I watched him! I watched him slap 'er, punch 'er, kick 'er, rape 'er! Did all that shit right in front a' me! Didn't give a shit that I was standin' there!" His voice dropped to a mournful whisper, then. He let go of Daryl's shirt, and stared at the ground, "Fucker made 'er lose three babies… why he let you live, I dunno. But 'e did. And yer here. After Ma died, he beat me… kicked me… hung me from a tree one time and beat me with a fire poker. Ya were too young to remember that, though…" He looked up at his little brother again. His eyes were glazed with painful memories. "I ain't no coward… I know I left… I know I let him… do ta you what he did ta me… I didn't wanna leave ya—I swear I didn't! I just couldn't take it... I ain't no coward. I ain't."

Daryl watched him warily. His brother never behaved like this. Ever. He wanted to say something to comfort him, but he had no idea what. Dixons didn't do comfort. So, he just watched him as Merle tried to get himself together again. Daryl watched Merle take a deep breath. His brother seemed to be about to speak again when a shout came from toward the main camp.

The two brothers leapt into action, both seeming relieved to have a distraction. Merle grabbed his rifle, and Daryl got his crossbow. Both men rushed back to camp, branches slapping their faces and pulling at their clothes as they ran through the brush. Daryl's heart was pounding in his chest. His mind drifted back to the silver-haired woman he'd met in the forest. Was she okay? Had Ed hurt her? Was that what the shouts were about? His gut clenched with fear at the thought. He didn't know why, but all he could think was: _Let her be okay. Let her be okay._

When the two brothers reached the camp, they were greeted with a scene that made Daryl sick. Carol and Lori were huddled in the door of the RV. Carol's face was stained with tears, and her eyes were red from crying. The side of her face where Ed had hit the previous night was an ugly black and blue. Lori had her arms around the silver-haired woman and was trying to console her the best she could. In front of the RV, Shane and Ed were facing off. The veins in the ex-cop's neck were bulging as he stared down the larger man. Daryl couldn't recall a time when he'd seen Shane so pissed.

"Where did she get them bruises?" Shane demanded. His was voice loud enough to wake the dead if they hadn't already been walking. He had a shotgun in his hands, but was gripping it by the barrel, and didn't have it aimed at Ed's head, as it should have been. Daryl felt his trigger finger begin to itch. If he had been in Shane's shoes, Ed Peletier would be dead by now.

Ed glowered at him. "I told ya! She fell! Tell 'em, Carol."

Carol cowered away from her husband, and moved closer to Lori, almost as if she was trying to disappear inside the other woman. The petrified look on her face awoke something in Daryl that he'd never felt before. His mind and body seemed to only be telling him one thing: _Protect her._

When his wife didn't answer, Ed took a step toward her. "TELL THEM!"

Daryl watched as Carol let out a small yelp and shrunk even farther away. "Please… don't… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

Ed's lips curled in disgust at his wife and turned back to a furious Shane. "She was bein' chased by one a' those geeks and fell. Got 'urt! She's in shock is all!"

"She is terrified of you!" Lori growled, pulling Carol behind her.

Ed gave Lori a fearsome glare. "You stay outta this! All y'all! Stay out a' our fuckin' marriage!"

"You are beating this poor woman!" Lori answered sharply. "And God knows what you're doing to Sophia!"

"That woman is my wife and I can do what I want with her!" Ed snapped. "You mind yer own goddamn business! If I think my wife needs to be punished, then she will be fuckin' punished."

Daryl went still at his words. He remembered his dad standing over him after Merle left. _"I can't punish your bastard brother, or yer stupid, fuckin' old lady, so I'll punish you! Yer Ma and yer idiot brother never understood that when ya break tha rules, ya get punished! Do you get that?!" _Daryl flinched as he remembered how his father had beaten him until he bled.

He raised his crossbow.

"Daryl, what the fuck—" Merle began, and then he saw the look in brother's eyes. "Daryl, no!"

He aimed.

"I will beat her until she obeys me!" Ed snarled, jabbing one of his sausage-like fingers towards his wife.

And Daryl Dixon pulled the trigger.

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A/N: DUN-DUN-DUHHHH!

Want the next chapter?

Leave a review and let me know! What do you think? Do you think Ed will die, or survive? Hmm... we shall see.


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